


questa notte

by legdabs (scvlly)



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: M/M, based on the skyrim vid lmao a heart whomst is she i know not, each chapter is an event set in a different year
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-14
Updated: 2018-01-20
Packaged: 2019-02-14 13:49:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13009155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scvlly/pseuds/legdabs
Summary: five snapshots of their lives since 2009. based on phil’s ‘i feel like you should be next to me’





	1. 2009

* * *

 

i.

 

 

The train back to Reading is one of the longest journeys of Dan’s life. 

Watching the fields and trees and houses blur outside of the window as his eyes try and fail to focus whilst his brain, his damned overactive brain, can do nothing _but_ focus on the week that had passed so quickly; on the time he’d spent with a boy he felt like he could pass forever with, if he wanted to.

_Fuck_ , does Dan want to.

 

* * *

 

His mum is full of questions when she picks him up from the station.

_How was his week? How was Phil? What were his parents like? Was the house big? Did they feed him well?_

Dan thinks it might just be easier to answer all of them and none of them at once, to simultaneously placate and silence with his standard response: 

‘It was good, mum.’

She still seems expectant, eyebrows raised, keys still halfway to the ignition.

He acquiesces with a smile that he tries to present as forced, but he can’t do a thing to hide its honesty. 

’Really good.’

 

* * *

 

Dan wants to open Skype as soon as he’s home, but his mum insists he unpacks and eats a meal with his family before he can escape to his room. 

He answers questions over dinner as vaguely as he can get away with, but he’s over-conscious that there’s probably no way that he can disguise just how much he’d enjoyed his trip.

Finishing quickly, he thanks his mum for the meal; standing to take his plate before his dad’s hand is on his arm and his questioning gaze makes him pause. 

‘I need to tell Phil I’m back, and then I’m gonna get some sleep.’

Nodding knowingly, though Dan’s not exactly sure _why_ his dad seems to know something, he moves his hand and to let Dan move through to the kitchen, set his plate in the dishwasher, and race upstairs.

He takes the steps two at a time, texting as he does so:

Dan - 21:22: _are u free to skype? ^u^_

Phil - 21:23: _call me, my laptop’s out of charge because we forgot to plug it in last night lolXD_

 

* * *

 

‘Phil?’ Dan breathes heavily as the phone is answered after its second ring. 

‘Hey, Dan.’ 

Hearing Phil’s voice, even over the phone, is enough to knock him back like a physical blow. Maybe _especially_ over the phone. Dan’s now keenly aware that it sounds very, _very_ similar to his early morning voice, and he’s not sure he’ll make it through another Skype call without coming in his pants. 

‘You alright?’

‘Yeah,’

‘You sound out of breath.’ There’s a concerned hitch to Phil’s voice that has Dan’s heart fluttering.

‘I just ran upstairs,’ he giggles, closing his curtains before flopping back onto the bed. 

‘Wow. Really working on your fitness, hmm?’

‘I was carrying my bag, give me some credit.’

‘Fair enough. I’m surprised that thing didn’t break a skinny boy like you in half.’ Phil laughs. 

It feels almost shamefully good to speak to Phil after not doing so for a grand total of almost five hours, and Dan feels a warm contentedness spreading through his chest at the thought that they can spend an entire week together and still have enough to talk quietly about into the evening.

Even when they’re 169.79 miles apart.

(Dan Googled it. Doing so also taught him that using infuriatingly slow train Wi-Fi serves only to make him feel worse.)

 

* * *

 

It takes until close to midnight for their conversation to lull. Dan finds himself getting sleepy; lying on his side with the phone beneath his ear as he stares blankly at the wall on the other side of his room. 

The emptiness of the other half of his bed feels like a crushing, physical weight. 

There’s a crackling silence on the line that stretches on, made longer by the darkness around him that makes him feel infinitely more alone. He wonders absently if Phil has fallen asleep, if he should force himself to do the same.

‘ **I feel like you should be next to me** ,’ Dan says quietly into the night, and has to swallow hard to stop his voice from breaking.

It takes a long moment and a deep, crushed sigh before he hears Phil’s reply.

‘I know.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i should be writing an essay on cholera in 19th century london. it's almost 3am. this is infinitely more fun.
> 
> legdabs on tumblr


	2. 2012

ii.

 

Phil wants him to make up his mind.

He’s sick of being ignored. Of being pushed away, literally as well as figuratively.

He hasn’t so much as touched Dan since their fingers brushed passing the milk one morning three months ago, when the other boy pulled back his hand and glared at him with a venom so pointed that it struck straight into his heart, and he feels like it’s been slowly killing him ever since.

 

* * *

 

That’s how they’ve come to be where they are today.

Phil’s standing at the kitchen counter as he waits for the kettle to boil, tense fingers wrapped around the edge of the worktop and gripping with a force he’s not really conscious of.

He senses Dan’s presence across the kitchen, feels his eyes on his back. He can picture him leaning against the fridge, hands in his pockets, and his fringe falling forward to mask the scowl he wears constantly of late. The room grows noticeably darker as he waits, the night creeping in far earlier than Phil thinks it should - but then, it’s nearly November, so maybe it shouldn’t be a surprise.

He blindly reaches for a mug from their cupboard, his focus still on the kettle as the switch flicks off. On autopilot he takes the coffee, unscrews the lid, has a spoon halfway to the cup when Dan’s voice, even and emotionless as ever, breaks the silence.

‘That’s one of my mugs.’

Phil doesn’t even have the energy to sigh before he replies, ‘Sorry. Do you want a drink?’

‘No.’

‘Ok.’

Phil won’t dignify the conversation by turning around. He’s learned to be stubborn, to give as good as he gets. So he puts back the spoon of coffee, and swaps the mug for one of his. It’s from a cheap tourist shop in Florida; a gift from his mum. The annual Lester getaway is one of the few aspects of his life that he doesn’t share with Dan, and Phil doesn’t want to think too much about why choosing that particular mug felt so easy, so _satisfying_.

He makes his drink without interruption this time, stirring in the instant coffee for a little longer and with more vigour than strictly necessary, but for once he doesn’t spill any over the side. He’ll take his little victories.

Next, though, Phil needs the milk.

He turns to see that his earlier mental image was almost entirely right. Dan’s long body is backed against the fridge, slightly curved as he slouches forward; fringe over his eyes, and hands deep inside his pockets. But as far as Phil can make out in the half-light still permeating the kitchen, there’s no frown to be seen. Instead, Dan’s face is startlingly blank.

It doesn’t change as Phil heads towards him, and his body doesn’t move an inch, even when Phil is close enough to reach out and open the fridge. He could, if he wanted to. He’d probably send Dan flying, with the way he’s angled against the door; his entire body weight resting against it.

Phil decides that as funny as it would be, that may not be the best course of action.

‘Can I get the milk?’ He asks, and he’s not expecting the response he gets when Dan turns around, opens the door, and passes him the bottle.

‘Thanks.’

He’s anticipating that his voice will hold a questioning intonation, but it doesn’t. He’s glad.

Phil adds a splash of milk to his drink and turns to the fridge to pass it back, but Dan’s already gone.

 

* * *

 

Later that evening, Dan’s sprawled across the sofa in his new normal browsing position: with his legs taking up the whole thing. It’s not a shock to Phil, leaning against their dining table, that they’re fighting again; even after the neutral ground they’d stumbled onto earlier.

_‘Phil, why do we have to watch this shit?’_

Dan’s almost shouting by this point. Phil won’t raise his voice because he doesn’t want to, because he doesn’t need to, and maybe just a little bit because he knows it _really_ pisses Dan off.

_‘We’ve literally watched the whole series and you ripped my head off because we missed the first ten minutes last week. I’d say **your** investment in Bake Off is **why we have to watch this shit**.’_

Like most nights, he doesn’t even know why they’re arguing about what they’re arguing about. It’s enough for him to antagonise with short responses that lack substance, or to throw Dan’s words back at him; to wind Dan up until he snaps and storms off and leaves him alone until the next day, when it starts all over again.

_‘Pass me the remote. I can’t hear it.’_

He hates that they’ve been reduced to this. That they’ve gone from being utterly inseparable, joined at the hip in every sense that they could be, to two people who can’t bear the sight of each other. The worst part of it all is that Phil is still wondering why.

_‘Catch.’_

He doesn’t hate Dan. He doesn’t _want_ to hate Dan. He’s almost certain that Dan doesn’t really hate him.

_‘Oww! My fucking hand, Phil, what the fuck, learn to throw?’_

You see, Phil knows Dan. He knows how he expresses his emotions; how he loves and how he hates.

Dan loves dramatically, through grand gestures and heartfelt words and with an almost obsessive fixation on the object of his interest that could as easily intimidate as it could flatter.

But he hates quietly, with a tight jaw and a cold rage and deliberate words and actions that leave no room for doubt about how he feels.

_‘Sorry.’_

He doesn’t hate like this. As though to hate is a performance piece, an emotion to be seen but not felt. And the more that he thinks about it, the more Phil’s starting to think that perhaps that’s the key to it all.

_‘Yeah, you sound it.’_

Beneath what he’s now sure is a facade, he can see Dan’s anguish, and he finally thinks that he knows its cause; that maybe the past three years of their lives and careers have somehow been leading them here all along. Dan’s difficulty in accepting himself, his hard time at school, that related internalised homophobia he still carries in spite of himself; the stress of trying to maintain their relationship and to do so away from the internet _just in case_ they jeopardise their careers; the conflict between wanting Phil, having Phil, and all that comes with it, and denying to everyone else, to their growing audience, and maybe, through fear, to himself, exactly what that means.

_‘Sorry.’_

Phil’s been waiting for so, _so_ long now for this whole thing to resolve itself that he was beginning to think that it never would. Finally, though, he’s starting to realise that there’s still a reason to hope, to reconsider the niggling fear he’d felt all along, that he’d thought could be the reason why they’d come to be like this: that they were simply too good to be true.

_‘Jesus **Christ,** Phil, shut up!’_

Maybe that’s what earlier was about. A deliberate peace offering of milk, wrapped in hesitation and disguised with a false desire to be separate from Phil. It’s been left up to Phil to decide where to go from here.

_‘Dan, I'm sorry.’_

Maybe it’s never happened before now because Dan wasn’t ready, or because Phil’s been going about it all wrong. Maybe ignoring their distance, pretending that he didn’t notice them drifting apart, wasn’t the right approach. Maybe it’s best to confront Dan’s evasion directly.

_‘Yeah, well. Ok. Whatever you say. I’m going to watch TV now, so if you want to shut up, maybe leave the room, then that’d be nice.’_

At this point, it’s not that he’s afraid of Dan’s answer (no - having finally thought this all through, the longer that his indecision stretches out the more certain Phil is that he’ll get the answer he wants to hear) - he’s just so sick of waiting, of being part of a broken singularity, that he finally snaps and asks the question he’s been waiting to, _wanting_ to, since Dan stopped being able to look him in the eye.

‘What do you want?’

There’s a definite pause before Dan veritably explodes.

‘I don’t _know_ what I want! That’s the problem! It’s been the fucking problem for this whole _fucking_ time and I-’

‘Dan. Stop thinking.’

Dan’s response is instant. He physically freezes, fingers gripping the edge of the sofa, before his eyes flicker expectantly to Phil’s.

‘Tell me this,’ Phil says softly, deeply; deliberately giving no weight to his words. ‘What do you _feel_?’

He watches Dan’s face journey from a redness that would be amusing if their escalating arguments from the past few months weren’t the reason for it, to a shade of white that could challenge his own complexion for the title of ‘England’s palest boy’; his features softening as his rage dissipates to leave only a careful contemplation. His youthful face shows all of his emotions so clearly - Phil realises that deep down, he hasn’t for a moment been fooled by the constant scowl Dan tries to wear when interacting with him. Dan never really lost the warmer feelings. They’ve always been just below the surface, waiting for a chance to re-emerge.

As he chews his bottom lip for a few long moments, Dan’s downcast eyes widen almost comically with realisation, before meeting Phil’s.

‘I _feel_ like… **like you should be next to me**.’

Dan stands; moving from the sofa, a little closer, to eventually stand before him, unblinking, as though he can’t quite work out what’s going on.

‘Phil, I… Can I…’ His hands reach uncertainly towards Phil’s side, tugging his t-shirt gently. It’s as though he’s never touched him before.

Phil smiles.

‘Come here.’

He lets Dan fall into him, finally wrapping his arms around the impossibly young boy for the first time in months. He can feel Dan gripping the hem of his top as he sobs openly into his chest and there’s a special kind of contentedness in knowing that holding Dan as he’s been longing to not only feels right to him, but to Dan too.

It’s not all the way to an apology and it’s not strictly forgiveness, but it’s progress.

It’s a promise.

And for Phil, for today, that’s enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry lads this is a bit uhhhhh, como se dice, messy but idk i'm trying to write this whilst also writing 6 university essays so i just wanna get it out of the word document and out of my head too
> 
> thx for reading and ur interactions it means a lot xx


	3. 2014

iii.

 

 

It’s that special time of year again when Phil abandons Dan for the annual Lester family holiday to Florida, and just as he did last time, he’s left Dan to do the radio show alone.

 

It’s not that Dan resents him for this.

 

Not much, anyway.

 

It’s more that Phil’s been gone for six days now, and he won’t be back for another five, and Dan hasn’t gone this long without seeing his boyfriend for a solid year now, and he’s not coping all too well with that. 

 

He misses him at home, but he’s better practised at distracting himself there. It’s easy - too easy - to put on a film, or play a video game into the early hours of the morning; to ‘forget’ to eat, because being hungry is a better distraction than feeling the way his stomach twists whenever he remembers the distance between them; to fold the duvet behind himself so it’s close to an imitation of a warm body wrapping itself around him on the nights when he feels most alone.

 

He can call Phil when he’s at home. He can call in the middle of the day and ask him how he’d slept, what he’s having for breakfast, what his plans are for the day. He can call him in the evening too, if he wants; to see where he is, and make sure he’s re-applied his sun cream at least twice.  

 

Sometimes (more often than he’d admit), he calls Phil late at night, when he can’t, or won’t, get to sleep. 

 

Phil used to chide him for this, for neglecting his sleep when he needs it so much, when they both know it helps keep him on the right track. _We made it a rule for a reason,_ he’d say, and Dan would nod because Phil was right and then, because Phil couldn’t see him nod from the other end of the phone, he’d say something sharp and biting because it was easier to be like that, to miss him with harsh words, than to admit that he could help himself when Phil was away.

 

Now, though, Phil doesn’t tell him off. It’s only just bedtime in Florida when in England it’s the early hours of the next morning, but he’s learned that Dan responds better to getting what he wants, to have Phil murmuring nonsense to him as they both drift off to sleep, rather than Phil trying to convince him that he’s better off going to sleep earlier in the first place.

 

He misses that when he’s at the radio station. 

 

There are none of Phil’s knick-knacks or memories of the cupboards he’s left open at random; he’s not made such an impression in this room at the BBC as he has in their home, even though Dan feels as though he’s there with him, working the controls and running through segments and he catches himself sometimes, looking to the side, as though there’ll be a Phil stood there to make eye contact with, and exchange a raised eyebrow that communicates a hundred words. 

 

There’s not even a phone lying by his side to pick up and call to listen to the man he loves breathe from the other side of the world.

 

* * *

 

Dan flicks a few switches and pushes some buttons, pulling down his mic and adjusting his headphones as he’s counted down by his producer, Alistair. 

 

‘And that was Bastille, with ‘Bad Blood’. I hope you enjoyed that, because whilst you were listening I was trying to make Sykpe work to get in touch with the special guest I’m about to bring you, and also trying not to swear at the iPad in case my mic was on.’

 

There’s laughter from the crew, picked up by the mic just enough to fill the pause Dan takes which he’s hyper-aware should be filled by a giggle from a lanky man on this side of the desk. 

 

‘Lucky for you lot it worked. Say hi to the radio, Phil!’

 

There’s a moment of lag before Phil’s voice crackles through, breaking up just a little, but not too much that he’s inaudible.

 

‘Hi the radio!’

 

‘And to _my_ online viewers?’ Dan teases, lifting the iPad to face the camera in front of him.

 

Phil waves and smiles, saying, ‘Hi, my online viewers!’

 

Dan tries to look outraged, but only manages to pull off annoyance with a strong helping of fond, with wide eyes and lips that inadvertently quirk up at their corners. 

 

He shakes his head. ‘Where are you, Phil?’

 

‘I’m in nice, sunny Florida, Dan.’

 

‘Wow. So good of you to take a holiday and leave me to do all the work.’

 

‘I’m sure they’ll pay you double for trying to fill the enormous shoes I’ve left behind.’

 

‘Oi. This is the Dan and Dan show now. I’ll get double for _succeeding_ at filling those average-sized shoes.’

 

Phil laughs, and Dan rolls his eyes; looking away from the iPad and towards one of the streaming cameras.

 

‘I’d like to just point out that I am not, in fact, being paid double, before someone tries to scrutinise my salary or something.’ 

 

‘And?’ Phil chimes in, after a bit of a delay. It seems as though the WiFi is struggling as much with the distance as Dan is.

 

‘And what?’

 

‘Anything else you want to clarify?’

 

Dan’s a little confused. ‘I don’t think so…?’  

 

‘“Average-sized shoes?”’

 

‘Oh!’ Dan laughs. ‘OK, fine, yeah. Phil actually has quite big feet so I guess those shoes aren’t average. But the _metaphorical_ shoes, however…’

 

‘Hey!’ It’s Phil’s turn to look outraged, and whilst his attempt is a little better than Dan’s, it’s still very transparent.

 

‘Fine _. Amazing_ Phil is by no means average, as his online username suggests. Happy?’

 

‘Delirious. Thank you.’ 

 

‘Glad to be of service.’

 

‘How’s the show going without me, Danny?’

 

‘Shut up.’ Dan rolls his eyes at the nickname as his mind pauses, wondering how honest he should be, live on-air. That exchange about Phil’s average-ness felt like it was pushing a boundary but then again, Dan thinks, _fuck it._ Who _actually_ cares? 

 

‘It’s weird. **I feel like you should be next to me.** ’

 

Phil barks out a laugh, and he sounds a little choked when he says, ‘Yeah. It’s weird not being there.’

 

There’s a contemplative silence between them that stretches for probably just a few seconds, but to Dan, ever-conscious of the audience, it feels endless.

 

He queues up a couple of tracks to play next as he thinks of what to say.

 

‘Come back soon, Phil. Our listeners miss you.’

 

‘Just a few more days,’ Phil says, and it sounds to Dan more like he’s reassuring him than anyone listening. ‘Home soon.’

 

‘Okay,’ Dan replies, and when he hears the sadness in his own voice, he hopes it’s quiet enough to be covered by the beginning of something loud and guitar-filled from a band Alistair had told him the station were promoting this week and he needed to play.

 

He crouches out of view of the camera pointing towards him over the desk, to quickly chat to Phil and disconnect the call before the song ends.

 

* * *

 

It feels like no time has passed at all when Alistair tells him quietly, via his headphones, that he’s been looking sadly at an iPad out-of-shot for over five minutes, and he should probably start to look at the cameras live-streaming his every move online at least a couple of times, because it’s looking a bit suspicious.

 

‘Alistair says I’m being too soppy and I need to go,’ says Dan, sounding rather more like a petulant child than he’d intended, but it’s worth it because it gets him a wide smile from Phil.

 

‘I love you,’ Phil tells him, his eyes looking suddenly watery. Dan hopes his body is blocking the camera that points from off to one side, the one that a year ago had caught Phil wiping away a tear before he’d realised he was still live and tried valiantly to cover it up, because he doesn’t think he can cope with the outcome of a few thousand people online correctly reading Phil’s lips.

 

‘You too,’ Dan says quietly, because it’s all he can manage.

 

‘Five days, love. That’s all.’

 

Dan nods. 

 

‘Call me when you’re home, okay?’

 

Dan nods again, smiles weakly, and hangs up.

 

It takes him a few moments and deep, shuddering breaths, until he’s ready to stand and face the small audience of his colleagues in the studio, and the cameras, and the tens of thousands of people listening outside of this little bubble.

 

‘So, uh…’ he takes a moment to clear his throat and subtly compose himself, and for once, doing so is enough for Dan to regain his flow for the rest of the show.

 

‘…that was Phil joining us before the music there, taking the time out from his holiday in Florida to give us a few moments of his precious time. And before any of you lot start, I am not jealous, at _all,_ that he's going to Harry Potter World and I'm stuck at work - no offence, Alistair, but you know, that's just _so_ much more fun. Anyway, I've had to do something a little different with this week's Internet News…’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm not sure i like this thing at all lol but i've started it so i'm gonna finish it. thank you for reading if you are!
> 
> come see me on tumblr at legdabs xxx


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